


home is where your teeth sink, love

by borzbois



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora plays bass, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Borderline Personality Disorder, Catra Goes to Therapy (She-Ra), Eventual Smut, F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mutual Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, Slow Burn, Spotify Playlist Included, Useless Lesbians, band au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28327347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borzbois/pseuds/borzbois
Summary: sanctify your bedsheets with the sweat along your hipscause everybody knows that teeth are where your heart was, love//Catra is frozen in place, feet planted firmly on the ground despite the fact that all she wants to do is run, run, run. Her heart is practically convulsing inside of her chest, squeezing and twisting in painful contortions. Everything in her wants to believe it's not real, that literally anyone else was standing in front of her belting out a buzzy alto bridge—but there's no denying this.This is Adora. This is her Adora.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), background Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 248





	1. walk in the room, take off your coat

There were things that Catra could never tire of, and one of them was the ambience of the night of a show at a dive bar. The air was already sticky with the smell of beer and cigarette smoke that had wafted through the patio doors, that clung to patron's clothes just like the sweat that began to bead down their necks. The band is set up, equipment laid out on the slightly raised stage in the corner of the bar, but any other evidence that someone was playing today mysteriously absent. 

She leans on the bar, trying to ignore the way her leather jacket seems to stick to the countertop, laying a ten out. When the bartender returns with her order, she leans in to pull an envelope out of her pocket. 

"Hey, is the manager here?"

"On a Saturday night?" The bartender gives her a dead stare with an unamused expression. "No, she's not."

"Well, can you give this to her?" Catra replies with just as much of a bite back. "It's our demo reel. Trying to find places to play." 

"Sure, whatever." 

Catra has to repress the urge to practically snarl at her as she grabs two glasses and walks out to the patio with them, setting them down on the wire frame tables in front of her companion.

"Oh, thanks!" Scorpia replies, looking up for her phone and giving her a goofy grin. 

Scorpia's hair is perfectly tousled from the brisk wind that floats through every few minutes, just enough of a breeze to send a shudder down their spines. It's peppered with a touch of salt air as it blows in from the beach, only a few miles to the west. Not many people are out on the patio for that reason, just a few people taking their smoke breaks before the actual show starts. Catra languidly follows suit, pulling out a cigarette from her inside jacket pocket and flicking her lighter to touch the flame to the end. 

Scorpia makes a face. "I wish you wouldn't smoke those, they're—"

"Bad for my voice, yeah, I know," Catra cuts in, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "I cut down, didn't I?"

She doesn't really listen as Scorpia rattles on about all the reasons why smoking is bad for a vocalist and all the damage it will do on her lungs and her vocal cords. Scorpia is just like that, always nagging her about making sure she's taking care of herself, doing things like "eating" and "drinking enough water" and "remembering to pay the electricity bill." 

Scorpia can be the voice of reason—Catra much prefers to be the bad influence instead. 

Her beer is ice cold but sour as it washes down her throat, but she doesn't particularly mind either. The sweet scent of tobacco and rush of nicotine give her the feeling of calm she desperately needed to get through the rest of the night. As much as she loves the ambience of a shitty dive bar on a Saturday night, that's as a _performer_. She pretty much despises crowds and drunk people, and the safe distance of the stage between them is the only real reason she actually _likes_ playing gigs. 

The door to the patio briefly opens and shuts, and they can hear the dull roar of a crowd roaring and the baritone strums of bass notes float on the air for a moment. The two of them share a brief glance across the table, and they get up to venture inside. 

Catra and Scorpia weave through a crowd of buzzed patrons, many of whom are decorated with their unspoken and discreet beacons of queerness: similar facial piercings that glint in the reflection of the stage lights, pronoun patches sewn with care beneath lapels and freshly trimmed undercuts with crisp designs inlaid. She can admit that these shows definitely draw a certain kind of crowd out—the alt scene was a comfortable nesting grounds for the queer community, especially in Los Angeles. 

But if she didn't know any better, she would think she was at a lesbian bar. 

Her gaydar is going off like crazy, being met with her own waves of idly buzzed attraction as her eyes skimmed across the crowd. There was a couple tucked into a corner, lips locked on one another and hands dangerously close to exposing a little too much skin to be considered decent as they roamed over each other's bodies. Throngs of patrons dancing close to one another, hips swaying in time with another as hands skimmed across clothed backsides and soft jawlines. 

"They must have something in the water here," Scorpia mumbles, pale face stained with a hint of a flush even in the dimness. 

Catra snorts in response. "Yeah—alcohol."

They're still making their way around the corner from where the stage is, the crowd swaying and pulsing to the low thrum of bass that echoes deep within her bones. It's the best kind of feeling, the way music can physically surge through her body when it's loud enough. It's one of the few times when Catra feels as though nothing can get to her. 

Then all the air is knocked out of her lungs and her heart drops into her stomach, pounding louder in her ears than any stereo system on the planet could hope to roar over. It's like every single nightmare and fantasy rolled into one that stands underneath the harsh spotlight, beams of brassy, warm oranges washing over the feminine figure of the woman that has broken her heart a million times over again. 

"Oh, _fuck_."

Her voice comes out in a pathetic whimper. She hates herself for the way it cracks mid-syllable, and the way her heart violently wrenches in her chest. 

She thought she was over this. She thought that this part of her life was all behind her, like a bad acid trip that was only halfway real. In a moment, it all comes crashing back to her and she feels like she's going to throw up. 

" _[Michelle, Michelle, you are a monster from hell—](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ebySCofQeRs)"_

Without meaning to, her eyes zero in on every single detail she can take in, roaming over Adora's figure with a hunger she had kept quiet for years. It consumes her in an instant as she watches soft, full lips stretch and pucker around lyrics that only distantly register in her mind. Long lashes and blue eyes that simmer beneath the surface, alternating between looking out into the crowd and stealing glances at her hand on the frets. 

"Catra? What is it?" Scorpia tries asking, but her voice is so far away in this moment.

Catra is frozen in place, feet planted firmly on the ground despite the fact that all she wants to do is run, run, _run_. Her heart is practically convulsing inside of her chest, squeezing and twisting in painful contortions. Everything in her wants to believe it's not real, that _literally anyone else_ was standing in front of her belting out a buzzy alto bridge—but there's no denying this. 

This is _Adora_. This is _her_ Adora. 

" _You know just how to be cruel when you shake your hips that way, I don't care what you say_..."

_Adora looks way too fucking good._

She can feel her cheeks burn from a flush of warmth as Adora's lips curl into a smug grin for a moment, before her face shifts into an explosive expression as she belts out the chorus with a special vigor. The sound of it all runs chills down Catra's whole body, her hair standing on end as she feels enraptured in the performance, unable to take her eyes away for a second. 

" _Michelle! Michelle!"_

It actually pisses Catra off that after everything, Adora turned out to be hot as hell, along with a begrudgingly talented voice, because of course she did. She's good at _everything_. Her form-fitting white tank top lets Catra peek at the plain black sports bra and hint of cleavage beneath, but more importantly, it shows off her...impressive physique. She's not built into quite the tank that Scorpia is, but Adora could definitely lift her over her shoulder with no problem. She watches the muscles flex as she strums on her bass, distracted by the pops of veins and tendons as her fingers smoothly transition from chord to chord. 

Fuck. She plays _bass_. 

_"You are a monster from hell!"_

The music begins to trail, as if the song is beginning to fade out, and Catra realizes with a start that she can't deal with this anymore. What if Adora _talks_ , what if she sounds the same? 

( _What if she falls in love all over again_?) 

She doesn't say anything, instead turning on her heel and booking it as fast as she can out of the door, grabbing the crook of Scorpia's arm in the process. Scorpia protests but easily allows herself to be led out—because Catra knows Scorpia would not _move_ if she didn't want to—as their pace quickens to the car. Catra practically slams the door shut as she scrambles into the cab, forehead resting on the curve of the steering wheel in front of her and eyes clenched shut. She can feel Scorpia's hesitant but curious energy, stuck between hovering and stepping on eggshells. 

Catra takes a few deep breaths to herself, trying to calm the racing pulse of her heart and the uncomfortable clenching of her guts. She grits her teeth when she pulls out her lighter and notices her hands shake, clumsily trying to flick it on. As soon as its lit, she turns on the car, rolls down all the windows and speeds out of the parking lot. 

"So, I don't wanna be pushing your boundaries or anything," Scorpia starts out carefully, keeping a light-hearted tone but awkward tone. "But...Do you wanna tell me what the hell that was all about?"

Catra takes a long drag of her cigarette, and it feels like the only thing that's keeping her tethered to this reality, this universe. Fuck, she shouldn't be driving, really, but she had to _leave_ —she couldn't risk being seen by Adora, couldn't risk looking in her eyes for the first time in years. She needed something to do with her brain that wasn't just letting it run a million miles an hour. They pull into some empty Walmart parking lot, Catra trying to ignore the way her wheels squeal on the turn off of the street or the way Scorpia remains silent even with her jaw clenched in concern. 

There is a moment of stillness after she turns the car off and the metal settles once more in the cool night air. 

"That was Adora," Catra says, finally. The words taste even worse actually coming out of her mouth, as if the mere name _Adora_ is poison on her tongue, burning and tingling. "I never thought I would see her again."

"Well, if she's an old friend, why did we leave? Let's go back so you can say hi—"

"No, Scorpia!" Catra growls out, angrily tossing her cigarette to the asphalt. "I didn't _want_ to see her again." 

A pause. "Oh. I'm sorry." 

She can tell Scorpia wants to ask more, but isn't, instead anxiously biting at her tongue to prevent herself from asking more. Catra sighs internally—it was her turn to play nice. Scorpia had been doing a damn good job at not pushing her lately, waiting until she calmed down enough to share whatever it was that was spiraling around her head. 

"We were childhood friends, I was maybe in love with her, and then she fucking left." 

— _she left_ ** _me_** _, and_ _she left me_ ** _there_** _with_ ** _her_** _._

The words spill out of her mouth quickly and shamefully, Catra's cheeks burning in embarrassment. She pointedly refuses to look at Scorpia besides her, in fear of the pity that might leak through her friend's gaze, as she turns the car back on and they head home. The warm yellow of the streetlights floods and escapes the car as they drive block by block, low static of the radio humming on an empty station. 

"Sorry for freaking out on you," Catra mumbles, feeling the thick weight of an unnamed emotion settle heavy in her chest. "I hate her more than anything in the world, and I just...wasn't ready to have to come face to face with that tonight." 

_Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it_. 

"Oh, Wildcat...I'm sorry." 

That's the voice she hates. The pity. Her stomach churns unpleasantly, tightens to a pit of an olive right in the center of her chest and begins to burn a hole straight through her. 

"It's fine," she replies quickly, running a hand through her hair, pulling out her ponytail along the way. She can feel the cool wind on the small sheen of sweat that had built up on her scalp. "I just need to get the fuck home. Get this off of my mind."

Catra's brain is still thinking far too quickly trying to sort it all out in her own head—what the fuck was Adora doing in Los Angeles? And how was she so unlucky enough that out of the hundreds of bars in Huntington tonight, they ended up in the same one? 

Her mind races the entire drive home, before they pull into their driveway with a smooth screech of the breaks. 

Their house is stupid big for two twenty-somethings with no credit or real money to their name. Luckily, Scorpia's parents were _loaded_ and apparently could afford to outright _buy_ a house for their daughter as a graduation present. Catra remembers how hard she had to try not to cry when Scorpia had asked her to move in – rent free – for no other reason than because they were friends. They liked one another. Scorpia had been her freshman year roommate in the dorms and the two of them had been stuck together ever since. 

The emotions Catra has been trying to keep pushed down inside her are beginning to boil over now. She has never been very good at being able to control them, but she's done so much work to do better, to _be_ better. At the very least, she should be able to keep quiet the choked growl of anger from escaping her throat as she goes through the motions to get in the house. If she can keep things together long enough to get to her room, at least she can keep some sense of pride. 

Frustrated tears grow in her eyes as she tries to key in the security code over and over again, her eyes blurred and not pressing the right keys. She can feel her hands shake, indignant rage growing in her chest and her fingers continue to angrily shove at the soft keypads of their alarm system that don't _press_ the right way and—

Scorpia's arms curls around her and squeeze her tight. Her instincts are to fight, to claw her way out of her friend's embrace, but she lets those urges sit inside her chest and fizzle out instead. Scorpia pulls Catra to her chest and quickly keys in the alarm code, taking in deep pulls of air that Catra almost hypnotically follow along with. The deep, insistent thudding of Scorpia's heartbeat even through her clothes is enough to anchor Catra temporarily, gently wiggling out of the taller woman's embrace before clambering up the stairs to her own room. 

She barely manages to shut the door behind her with a heavy thud of her own weight against it before she realizes the panic attack is hitting. Her back slides along the door as she curls up and wraps her arms around her legs, forehead pressing into her knees. Eyes clench shut as she tries to push away the mental images of Adora that burn into her vision. 

She can only imagine how pathetic she must sound from the other side of the door, her choking gasps surely audible despite her attempts to the contrary. She knows Scorpia is quietly hovering in the hall, can hear her gentle tinkering in the bathroom meant to give Catra some sense of normalcy and privacy but also for her roommate's own piece of mind that she was nearby if needed. 

Catra guesses it helps. 

She doesn't know how long it takes for the black fuzziness to fade from the corners of her vision, or for her to finally get up and wipe off her now tear-streaked and smeared makeup off her face. But she tosses her clothes off across the room, gets under her comforter and curls into a ball in the quiet darkness of her room. 

She can hear Scorpia's door finally shut quietly on the other end of the hall, and a soft buzz of her phone across the room—probably in her pants, she thinks. She doesn't care to check it. She doesn't have work tomorrow, and whatever it is can wait until she's not emotionally spiraling. 

* * *

Her dreams are fitful and vivid. The worst she's had in a while. 

She's in the old group home, their identical beds pushed up into opposing corner of the small room. There is only enough room between them to fit a well-loved and splintering dresser that is cluttered with the few things they own. A popsicle stick picture frame, inside a Polaroid of them as kids sticking their tongues out. Silly beaded bracelets they made that had their names on them, plastic and glittery and clunky. Matching water bottles with brightly colored stickers plastered over every bare inch of plastic. 

Usually when she dreams of this place, she's a kid again. But when she turns around to see herself in the mirror, the same chip in the corner it always had, she's herself. Older, eyes rimmed by dark liner and with the signature scowl she perfected since her early teens. 

"Catra?" 

Her head whips around to the door frame, and Adora is standing there. Adora in her outfit from last night, and suddenly they're in the bar, shoes catching on the sticky floor and ears roaring with the speakers but it's empty save for the pair. She stands in the middle of the empty floor, Adora belting out lyrics again at the top of her lungs. Catra can't quite understand the words, like she's listening to them underwater, but she moves closer to the stage. Her limbs feel like she is swimming through jelly, the end of the stage growing farther and farther away despite every heavy step she takes forward. 

Her vision shifts again. They're in their room, small forms curled up together on Catra's bed. Adora's is stripped bare across the room, all her things packed up neatly and sitting on the rubber mattress. 

"I'm gonna miss you," Adora's childish voice whines. "But I'm gonna call and write you letters and you're never ever gonna forget me, ever!" 

Stupid Adora. 

"Promise?"

She could never forget that stupid little gap-toothed smile. 

"I promise, Catra!" A pause. "You have to promise me too, okay?"

Catra smiles, the sadness in her chest uncurling for a moment to just exist in this moment, Adora's skin warm against hers. She can hear Adora's heart beat in her chest, their gangly preteen limbs tangled up together on the bed. 

"I promise, Adora. I'll never forget you."

Catra wakes up with tears on her pillow and an ache in her chest. Her sheets are drenched in sweat, her back sticking uncomfortably to the fabric and she rolls over with a muffled groan, resisting the urge to scream into her pillow. She clenches her eyes shut as her mind plays back the all too real images from her dream. 

_ Fuck _ . 

* * *

There is no thrill more exhilarating than the stage. 

It is something special to bare yourself down to your core and then expose it, leaving with it all in one place, a little lighter than when you got there. The adrenaline that runs through Adora's blood when she performs is like any other, that breathy shiver of nerves turns her spine into a livewire whenever they play a show. 

"Everyone, thanks for hanging out with us tonight, this has been Friends of Mara!"

Once the show is over, they settle down at the bar for a few drinks and a plate of food before they pack up their gear for the night. It is a strange kind of tired she always feels during their post-show drinks—the adrenaline is still running through her blood, nerves alight, but her muscles are slowly starting to cool down and slow. Mind running wild with her body slowly staggering to a stop, and she allows herself a moment of quiet relief as she gulps down a glass of water as they wait for their order. 

Huntara, the owner, has been really good to them. She gave them a chance to play at her bar even when they just had two shitty handheld amps and no original songs. They were a weekly feature now, part of the charm that came with the beachside location and being a hangout for locals and tourists alike. They were great for business, too – they were almost always packed to the gills these days. They get a free meal after each show, a few free drinks here and there and the pay was decent. 

The bar is just starting to change crowds, from the patrons who came to watch them play to the late-night partiers who were just starting on their long evening of drinking. 

"Hey, here's your pay for the week. Huntara isn't here but she said the invoice is inside along with your share of tips from last week."

The bartender comes out of the back office to hand them a small envelope, placing it directly in Adora's hands. Mermista isn't particular about many things, and her customer service could use a little ( _a lot_ ) of work, but she's careful with money if nothing else. Adora thanks her and tucks it into the inner pocket in her jacket, absentmindedly patting the outside of it once it's secured. Mermista leaves again, tucking around the corner to continue making drinks. 

Blue eyes drift along the bar, tired and dry from the bright lights, but her mind buzzing with adrenaline still. A hastily clipped business card calls out to her, the deep maroon of the card contrasting against the dull orange packing envelope it's clipped to. She knows she shouldn't be nosy, but...

She plucks the card carefully without disturbing the package, if anything for something to look at while she waits for her drink. But as her eyes glide over the words, she has to blink away the bleariness for a moment before rereading just to make sure her mind wasn't playing tricks on her. 

_CRIMSON WASTES_   
_Los Angeles, CA_   
_@crimsonwastes_  
_SPOTIFY | TWITTER | INSTAGRAM | TIKTOK_  
_For booking, please contact Catra Grayskull at (xxx)xxx-xxx_

Adora carefully turns the card over and over in her hands, heart thudding like a jackhammer in her chest. All of her appetite has bled away, replaced by an uncomfortable and overwhelming nausea that lurches over and over in the pit of her stomach. 

_No. It can't be. There's no way..._

"Mermista!" she calls, waving their friend over. The card shakes in her hands as she presents it to the other woman. "Who gave this to you?"

Mermista shrugs, setting their typical post-show shots in front of the trio. "Some hottie left it at the bar for me to give to Huntara."

Both Glimmer and Bow give her strange looks as she frowns, staring at the card even more. She plays with the edges along her calloused fingertips, feeling the crisp corners catch on her rougher skin. She takes a picture of it quickly with her phone and puts it back behind the bar for Mermista, before giving her friends what she hopes is a convincing smile. They all pick up their shot glasses and clink together, cheering "For Mara!" before all three swallow their liquor with ease. 

Adora still can't help the little shiver and disgusted frown she gives as the aftertaste burns on the back of her tongue. 

"You look like you are thinking way too hard," Glimmer remarks, staring up into Adora's eyes with a burning curiosity. "Stop it. Relax, bask in the post-show euphoria!"

Adora lets out a laugh and concedes. But even so, her mind can't stop rolling over the name on that card. It eats away at her from the inside out, and she finds that she can't even keep her mind on dinner. She picks helplessly at her food, having eaten maybe half of it before dejectedly asking for a carry out box. 

"You _never_ have leftovers," Bow states, raising an eyebrow. He places his palm on her forehead, frowning. "Do you have a fever? Did we work you too hard?"

Glimmer snorts. "She does a great job of that all by herself."

"I'm fine," she interjects, rolling her eyes as she scrapes the other half of her burger into the styrofoam box. She doesn't bother trying to keep the fries, her two friends already ravaging _those_ leftovers from either side of her. "I must have eaten something weird earlier. My stomach's just not sitting well."

She doesn't think that either of them bought that excuse, but they make no indications otherwise and continue to demolish the rapidly shrinking pile of fries and she breathes an inner sigh of relief. 

After they pack up their gear, she crawls into the back and squishes herself against the gear that is practically piled to the ceiling of her SUV. It's usually Glimmer who sits back here, since her legs are shorter than hers or Bow's. But she had faked an excuse about not feeling well already, so it was easy to get Glimmer to switch seats so she could curl up in the back without having to interact with the outside world for a moment. She lets out a tired exhale and presses her clammy forehead to the cold window as they pull out of the parking lot. 

Grayskull. She hasn't heard that name in a long time. 

It used to be hers, until Angella and Micah adopted her. They hadn't forced her to change her last name to theirs, but they offered and she had no particular attachment to her old name. Grayskull was a remnant of a family that she never really knew to begin with—and she knew even at that age that having the same last name as the rest of her adopted family would make things easier in the long run. 

_Catra Grayskull._

The name rolls soundlessly over her tongue over and over again, getting used to the way it feels in her mouth. It's actually what she used to do when she was a kid, and she imagined whisking the two of them away to their happily ever after. She remembers the first time Catra ever called herself "Grayskull," during a game of playing house and they were obviously married. Adora can't help the smile that pricks up at the corners of her mouth at that memory. 

She shuffles her phone out of her jacket pocket and opens up the photo of the business card, quickly switching over to Instagram to search for the username printed on the card. Immediately, the profile pops up and she has to blink away the tears that instantly prick her eyes. 

It's _her_. 

She taps the first little square that has the clearest image of Catra in the thumbnail, and blows it up. She's posing for some kind of promo, holding a sleek red guitar and practically leering down at the camera. But her full face is turned towards the camera, and Adora can see dual tones of an amber and ice gaze that has always lingered in her memory. Her hands shake as she scrolls through picture after picture, soaking in every detail she can. 

One of the earliest pictures on the account has Catra's personal account tagged. It's private, of course. But the profile picture confirms it's her—and even if it doesn't, the brief bio does: "out of order. come back when i decide to like you."

Automatically, she taps the follow request button, before instantly realizing the error of her ways. 

She can't just follow request her childhood best friend who she was maybe sort of in love with still a little out of nowhere, after having no contact for the last ten years, right? Maybe there was a reason Adora's letters always got sent back, maybe Catra wanted nothing to do with her! Maybe she was just pushing her way back into the life of someone who didn't want her! 

But fuck, this was _Catra_. Even if Catra hated her, she at least had to know. 

She spends the entire ride home back to Pasadena typing and deleting the same message over and over again. Her fingers are clumsy and her mind is filled with thick static, and no matter how many times she tries, she can't convey what she wants. She's on the verge of just considering not sending a message after all, her anxiety thrumming in her veins and chest uncomfortably tight. 

"...dora? _Adora_!" 

"What?" she snarls in response, whipping her head up. 

Oh. They're sitting in the driveway, both of her friends already unbuckled with their doors open, obviously waiting for Adora to get out too. Her cheeks and ears heat up in embarrassment. 

"We're home," Glimmer replies with a glare of her own. "Now I'm going to need you to dial that bitchiness back a few notches."

"Sorry," Adora mumbles pathetically. She looks back down to her screen for a moment as she unbuckles her seatbelt, finger hovering over the screen for a moment in anxious indecision. But she taps the _Send_ button before she can think any harder about it and clambers out of the crowded backseat, stretching her legs with an exaggerated groan. 

"If you're not feeling good, you can just lay down," Bow offers as they amble out of the car, opening the back hatch to start pulling cases out. "Really, we can handle it for a night."

"Speak for yourself," Glimmer grumbles under her breath. 

"I'm fine," Adora insists, easily plucking an amp case from Glimmer's struggling arms. "I can help."

"If you say so..."

There is a moment where things seem relatively normal again, as if her entire world has not been turned upside down in the last hour. The familiar, routine haul of their gear from the car to the garage is enough to get her blood pumping again, to distract her for a moment. 

Then it sinks in. 

_Oh my god, did I seriously just press send?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song for this chapter was "michelle" by sir chloe!


	2. i'll let you down, i guarantee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> catra agonizes over adora's reappearance in her life.

Three knocks on her bedroom door. 

Catra groans. 

"What," is all Catra growls from her depression nest of comforters and pillows. 

"There's breakfast downstairs for you. I'm headed to the gym, but call me if you need me, okay?"

Scorpia's voice is muffled from the slab of wood between them, but her voice is still too bright and chipper for her sulking. It makes her skin itch with irritation, the urge to lash out ripping through her like shockwaves. But the feeling fades within moments, replaced instead with guilty self-loathing that sinks deep into her bones. 

She shouldn't have to push people away just because she was feeling like shit, and Scorpia is good about giving her space when she's in one of her moods. 

She waits until she hears the quiet but clear sound of Scorpia locking the front door behind her, before finally allowing herself to slip out of her blanket nest. She takes a quick look at herself in the mirror, and almost wants to hiss at what she sees. Her hair is a total mess, remains of her eyeliner still smudged around her puffy, bloodshot eyes and – 

"I look pathetic," she mutters to herself, glaring at her reflection for a moment before pulling on a sweatshirt and shorts to eat breakfast in. 

Catra can't help but feel bad for shutting Scorpia out when she sees breakfast sitting in a neatly folded paper bag, next to a still steaming to-go cup of coffee. Her roommate had clearly gotten up early to get her favorite breakfast, even before she went out for her morning run. 

Scorpia was just...thoughtful like that, always putting in the extra effort to brighten up her day even when Catra was being a straight up bitch. She would have to apologize later—maybe the two of them could order Chinese food tonight and get drunk watching some movie together. She owes Scorpia that much. 

Breakfast, which consists of the finest bagels and lox known to Los Alamitos, helps her sour mood more than she maybe wants to admit. She hasn't eaten since before they left for the bars last night and she was hungrier than she had realized. Feeling somewhat refreshed, she decides to force herself into the shower to finish her transformation from "somewhat corporeal" to "something resembling a person." 

The shower is blazing hot when she finally steps inside, and she groans with relief. It feels good at first, even if a little startling. Showers are her sacred place to decompress, to press the pause button on life and regain any sanity she may have lost. 

Naturally, her thoughts keep drifting back to Adora. 

This fact in and of itself pisses her off, makes the irritation seethe beneath in her skin in a spike of intensity for just a moment. She has spent so long thinking of Adora, far too long than any one person deserves to exist in someone else's head – especially considering the way things ended. 

Catra frowns at the memory. 

Summer vacation had just started, and the two of them were looking forward to spending all summer together. They were only sixteen, having both skipped a grade together back in middle school, getting ready to start senior year in the fall. 

Instead, they woke up to Adora's things already packed for her and Catra spent the summer alone, trapped inside a skeleton of a house with something far worse than her nightmares. 

The day Adora got adopted was the worst day of her life. 

Everything changed for her at that point on. Weaver had never liked her, for reasons she didn't know and didn't care to learn. She was always harsher on Catra than any of the other kids, and once Adora was gone, it just got worst. Other foster kids came through Weaver's house—mostly younger, there weren't many older than her that stayed for very long. Some of them were tolerable, some who were troublemakers, and some who she only knew for a few days before they got recycled out to another home. 

But Catra was stuck in that fucking house until the day she turned eighteen. Weaver kept her there for her own sick pleasure, probably. 

It didn't matter how many times she ran away, Weaver always managed to find her. It didn't matter how good she tried to act, there was always something she did worthy of a punishment. It didn't matter how badly she misbehaved to get thrown out—Weaver always said that she "knew exactly what to do with children" _like her_. 

Catra can hear Weaver's voice in her head when she says that, even now. 

She remembers the nights that she laid in bed, bruises on her skin and tear streaks down her cheeks just pretending that Adora was there with her. Holding her, telling her that everything would be okay, to just hold on a little longer. 

She always believed Adora would come back for her, or would at least write a fucking letter. But after a short, tearful goodbye that ended in Weaver ripping the two of them apart, she never heard from Adora again. 

Adora got adopted and she got forgotten. 

Which wasn't fine, but she had accepted it at least. She had made the most of what she could, had made something of herself despite that she was always told she would never amount to anything. She went to _therapy,_ she was in the middle of getting her degree, she had a job and got to play her music. 

The last ten years of Catra's life have been about putting her past, putting her trauma behind her and moving forward, becoming whoever she wanted to be. Except now that cheeky little blonde had waltzed back into her life without even knowing, and dug up graves that had long been settled. 

Wrapping herself up in her towel, she steps out of the shower and begins to gently brush out the knots and tangles in her ends. She feels a little better, like the ache in her chest is a little less distracting. At the very least, she feels like she can exist in the world even if she was walking the line by doing so. 

Catra begins to hum to herself as she pads to her room, the carpet soft beneath her feet. She finally decides to grab her phone from her discarded jeans that lay crumpled on the floor, already mentally preparing herself for the onslaught of notifications she was going to have to deal with. 

She wishes she wasn't the designated "social media manager" of their band but fuck if she was going to let anyone touch it. Scorpia had access, too, but they had all collectively agreed that she would not be the best for their branding or booking negotiation. 

She scrolls through a slew of Twitter notifications, mostly all meaningless. A few texts, mostly from the group chat finalizing practice details for tonight—she breathes a sigh of relief at this. She needs the distraction. Practice will be good for her, will get her out of her fucking head for a few hours and make her forget all about fucking Adora. 

It's not until she opens her Instagram DM's that she finds her heart stopping. 

_New message from She_ra!_  
_Follow request from She_ra!_

Her fingers shake as she opens the message. 

_She_ra: Uh, hey! This is weird, and a long story but this is Adora. Uh, I just wanted to talk. Sorry, I know this is awkward and weird but... I miss you, so fuck it._  
_She_ra: I hope you message back._

Catra doesn't realize she's holding her breath until her chest burns and she's suddenly gasping for air. She lets out an angry scream and throws her phone across the room, emotion surging through her like a violent tide. She yanks on her clothes with angry impatience, resisting the urge to tear them all right back off of her. Everything feels too tight, too constricting, like it's suffocating her, but she forces herself to stay in them anyway. 

She picks up her phone and presses call. 

" _Catra_?" Scorpia is out of breath and clearly surprised to hear from her. " _Everything okay_?"

Catra bites her bottom lip, embarrassed tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Despite the hesitation, she swallows her pride and replies. 

"Uh... No, not really."

" _Okay, on my way home now. I'll see you in like twenty minutes, okay?_ " 

Scorpia's voice is concerned, even through the static of the phone, but not angry or irritated. Just concerned. That reminder makes the anxiety in Catra's veins soothe themselves just a little, quiets the uncomfortable itching from beneath her skin. 

"Okay," Catra says quietly. "Thanks, Scorpia." 

She can practically hear her roommate's giant, idiotic grinning from here. " _Anything for you, Wildcat._ "

_It's not fair_. 

While she knows that Scorpia is on her way now, she still can't help the way her mind spirals over and over again, just waiting until she's off balance enough to spill over the edge into rock bottom territory. It gnaws at her, unyielding, and so she decides to settle down on the couch with her guitar. 

It's an old wooden acoustic, the first one she ever bought. She can't bring herself to get rid of it despite the fact that's it's far too ugly to do anything but play on at home, deep scars carved into the varnish and lacquer, peeling away the protective layers and exposing it to the elements. Catra lovingly caresses the strings and the frets with calloused fingertips that catch on the grooves in the wires. She finds herself idly beginning to pluck the strings without thinking, hands drifting into the comfortable dance of tuning, listening to the notes change and sharpen into their proper sounds. 

A coarse melody floats through the air as Catra fingers it out, plucking at the strings with idle twitches of her fingertips. She's been working on a song for a while, but keeps getting stuck at the transition into the bridge. It's always too clumsy or too abrupt of a change, and she knows that once she can hear drums or bass go along with it that it will write itself, but she is always nervous about presenting songs that aren't finished yet. 

" _[I'm not worried whether not you hate me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bUP_S4Uh1AM&ab_channel=SoreEyes-Topic),_" she sings to herself, despite that her voice is just a touch gravelly from crying. " _I'm just worried that I think that you don't care..."_

It's almost like second nature to strum through the quick-pick rhythm, one of her favorite working melodies to use when playing around with lyrics. The notes echo off of the vaulted living room ceiling, and her eyes gently float shut as she continues. 

_"Take your sadness down into the shower, y_ _ou can bleed there all you want a_ _nd I won't care..._ "

She jams her fingers on the chord change for the next line and gives a frustrated huff. 

"Okay, done with you," she mumbles, frowning. 

Catra tries taking a deep breath to calm herself, staring up at the ceiling waiting for Scorpia to come back. She waits for what feels like forever, and checks her phone – it hasn't even been five minutes! Seriously? 

She lets out another exaggerated groan, even though there was no one to hear her complaints. She picks up her phone to scroll through social media—distraction is good, right? 

Except it opens up directly to Adora's Instagram message. 

The tiny little icon clearly highlighting her blonde ponytail taunts her. Her stomach flips in nerves, fingertips itching as it idly scrolls up and down the screen. And—oh! Whoops! Her thumb pressed something and Adora's page opened up! What a totally unexpected turn of events!

_Well...might as well, right?_

"Just while I'm here," Catra mutters to herself, deciding to blatantly ignore the way her cheeks flush with embarrassed heat. 

Her heart almost stops plainly in her chest when she opens up the first damn photo. It's Adora posed with her bass, sleeves of a white V-neck rolled up to show off absolutely ridiculous muscles. The photo is crystal clear enough to highlight a drop of sweat rolling down from the dip of her collarbone to the valley—

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

It's so immediate that she gets lost in the threads of her obsession again, finding her heart aching the same way it did when she was laying in her bed back at Weaver's. She scrolls through and sees Adora with friends, noticing a few familiar faces over and over again. Her eyes narrow as she scrolls through picture after fucking picture of Adora with beautiful woman after beautiful woman, that big dorky smile making her heart flutter unevenly in her chest. 

Adora isn't hers. There's no reason for her to feel jealous. But she lands on a picture of the same short girl with a pixie cut that's been appearing over and over again giving Adora a playfully posed kiss on the cheek, their eyes sparkling with laughter as they look at the camera and Catra can't help the wave of jealous rage that encompasses her. It makes her sick to her stomach practically, and for a moment she considers if she has to run to the bathroom to throw up. 

But she doesn't. She just sits there and lets it fester as she continues to scroll through picture after picture, finding herself being tumbled through literally every emotion she could feel. She aches with longing in one second and then burns such intense anger the next, she can practically taste the bile slowly crawling its way up her throat. 

The sudden sound of the front door opening makes Catra let out a quiet shriek and launching her phone across the couch. It takes another minute for Scorpia to scuffle in, pulling off her trainers at the door and wiping her face down with the towel that hung around her neck. Catra gives her roommate an awkward half-smile before proceeding to stare intently at her hands. As inconspicuously as possible she grabs her phone from where it landed on the recliner and perches back on the couch.

Scorpia grabs a cold bottle of water from the fridge before sitting on the armchair across from her and patiently waiting for whenever Catra is ready to talk. She takes a deep breath in, letting out a big and heavy sigh on the exhale, curling her knees up to her chest. 

Scorpia's attentive gaze is almost too intense for her, but she shovels that excuse down quickly and opens her mouth before she can think too hard about it. 

"Okay, so," Catra starts, the words already escaping her brain before she begins. Any coherent thoughts she had went out the window the moment she realized she was actually about to have to tell this story. "Adora and I grew up in the same foster home and she...was my best friend. We did everything together. It was the only way we knew how to survive in that place."

A look of understanding dawns on Scorpia's face. "Right, because of..."

They didn't speak her name in this house. 

"Yeah." Her tone is unintentionally clipped, eyes looking faraway as she tries not to let the memories wash in too intensely. "Then, one day...we woke up and her stuff was packed. That was the last time I ever heard from her until last night. Then, to top it all off, this morning I wake up to _this._ " 

Catra hands over her phone, screen open to the Instagram message. Scorpia's eyebrows shoot up as she looks between Catra and the screen. 

"Yeah, uh-huh, okay, so... How is this a bad thing?"

Catra lets out a frustrated groan, burying her face in her hands. Her head hurts from crying still and she just wants one day where her emotions make her function like a normal person—not this _mess_ that she is now. 

"After she left, she didn't call me, didn't visit, didn't even write me a fucking letter, Scorp!" Fuck, she can feel the tears prickling at the corner of her eyes and she wills her voice not to shake. "She abandoned me there, where she _knew_ how I was being treated."

"Cat..." Scorpia's voice is soft, and the couch shifts as she comes to curl an arm around Catra's shoulders. "She was just a kid, too. She didn't know any better."

"I know that!" she growls, before flinching back and giving her roommate an apologetic glance up. She absolutely does not lean into Scorpia's chest or cherish the feeling of being held. "Sorry, sorry...I know that it's just..."

Scorpia pulls her in closer, and even though she smells like sweat and rush hour smog, Catra takes a deep inhale and finds the scent disturbingly comforting. They stay like that for a few more moments than Catra would normally allow herself to, but she stays quiet. The contact feels good. 

"I don't know what the fuck I should do," she finally mumbles when Scorpia releases her, sniffling a little bit—but absolutely _not_ from crying. It was just allergies. 

"What does your heart tell you?" 

"To ignore her and fester over this shit for the rest of my life," she mutters, eyes narrowed at a random spot across the room. She is pointedly ignoring Scorpia's direct gaze on her.

"...Ok, and what does the heart underneath that one say?" A pause. "Catra..."

"Nope, I refuse."

"Catra—"

"Look, if it will make you happy, I will message her, okay?" 

Scorpia lets out a happy squeal and squeezes Catra tight around her midsection. Catra gasps in surprise as she feels her back pop in several places, which is admittedly relieving but entirely too sudden. She lets out a dramatic groan as she struggles against Scorpia's hold but she can't push the smile off of her face. When the larger woman finally lets her go, she gives her a grateful if not bashful smile. 

"...But I'm not messaging her until after practice." 

" _Catra_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song this chapter is "monument, colorado" by sore eyes, who are a group a really cool guys (and also some good friends)!
> 
> thanks so much for all your comments so far, i love hearing any feedback!


	3. i felt your love for a little while

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adora gets a response.

The waiting would not have been the awful part. 

No, Adora is patient. Adora is nothing _but_ patient! 

Her whole life has been carefully planning everything out, watching it fall to piece before her eyes, and then patiently working and waiting to build it all back up again. She has been waiting for Catra to message her back since last night, and since it has been almost a complete twenty-four hours with no response, the anxiety demon inside of her brain is screaming at her. 

No, the worst part is that she can't focus on literally anything else while she waits, staring desperately at Catra's locked Instagram profile as if that will make it magically open to her. 

"Refreshing it over and over again isn't going to make it work," Glimmer says, eyes not leaving the tv in front of them. 

Bow and Glimmer are curled up into each other on chaise portion of the sectional, Adora's long legs stretched out across the entire rest of the couch. Blankets and pillows are strewn across them and the floor, containers of various forms of munchies open on the coffee table—all par for the course for a Best Friends Squad night. 

Adora hasn't paid attention to the tv all night – she's seen _Lord of the Rings_ a million times and she can't find the strength to focus on it at all, even though she can hear the soaring theme of the Rohirrim over the roar of her own thinking. 

"That's _not_ what I'm doing," she says, doing exactly that. 

"Show me your phone screen without touching it then." 

"...This proves nothing!" 

"Uh-huh, that's what I thought." 

All of the unanswered questions swirl around over and over in her head, an unending chant of her own incessant chatter. They sit on the tip of her tongue, itching for answers she's been wanting for years: _How have you been? How did you end up in LA? What ever happened to Weaver? Did you get out? Have you been doing okay? Why didn't you answer any of my calls? Why did you send all my letters back?_

She keeps going back to the one solo picture of Catra, unyielding eyes staring directly into hers as she takes in every single detail, pixel by pixel. 

The next time she looks up, the television is black and Glimmer is quietly untucking herself from Bow's arms. 

"When did he fall asleep?" Adora asks in a low voice. 

"Around when Theoden kicks Wormtongue out," Glimmer replies. 

They quietly clean up the living room as best they can, setting the dishes in the sink to be dealt with tomorrow, folding up the blankets and putting them back in the hall closet. Glimmer quietly wakes Bow up to move him to their room while Adora gets ready for bed. She plugs in her phone, fills up her water bottle and takes her medication. She's just about to head to the bathroom to brush her teeth when Glimmer's head pops into the still open doorway of her room. 

"I'm gonna have a quick smoke before bed, come with me?" 

There's a bit of a chill outside, the two of them wrapped up in oversized hoodies and pajama pants as they sit on the back porch. They don't like smoking inside if they can help it, mostly just to keep the smell out of the furniture and the walls. Their backyard is tiny, barely more than an aged wooden porch with a long strip of grass that runs along the length of their property so the realtors could say it included a "lush grass feature". 

Glimmer holds her lighter to the bowl of her pipe and takes a deep inhale, breathing out a thick plume of smoke into the cool night air. She glances at Adora, holding out the pipe, but Adora just shakes her head. She smokes every now and then to take the edge off, but it never gives her quite the relaxing haze everyone else seems to get from it. Tonight, she buries her nose in the collar of her hoodie to get away from the sudden wave of nausea that the smell brings. 

"I know you know her from your foster home," Glimmer says, playing with a frayed edge on her sleeve, "but I feel like there's more to it." 

Adora pauses for a moment, mouth dry and heart aching. "I mean, she... She meant a lot to me, is all. She was the only reason I survived that place, Glim." 

"I know Mom said it was bad but... Well, you know, and I didn't want to push it, but like— just how bad _was_ it?" 

The stars are normally obscured by light pollution anyway, but what little glinting they could see was completely covered by the rare appearance of clouds. She misses being able to see constellations outside her window every night, to sneak out on the roof with Catra and just look up at the stars and talk about nothing for hours. 

"It wasn't horrific at first," Adora admits after a pause. "There were rules and expectations, I followed them, we didn't have a problem. But...she picked on Catra, and she used our closeness to mess with us." 

"Like how?" 

Adora's eyes get glassy, mind far away and delving deep into a memory that was still fuzzy in her brain. It's hard to dive back into this time in her life, to allow herself to relive the painful memories. 

"I remember when we were kids and would get grounded, we weren't allowed to talk to each other," she says softly. "She would put a baby monitor in our room so we couldn't even whisper after lights out. When we got older, it was things like, 'No dinner for a week' or 'No hot showers for a month'." 

Those were the worst in the winter. Her and Catra would get up extra early to shower at school, had permanently stored a few changes of clothes and toiletries in their lockers. They still had to suffer in the ice cold rinses at home, if only so that Weaver didn't catch onto their game. They would go to bed at night shivering and covered in goosebumps, curling against each other in the same bed under double blankets just to keep warm. 

"No hot showers? How can you even control that?" Glimmer scoffs. 

Adora gives her a wry smile. "Oh, you just take the knob off. Or turn off the water heater. Depends on how much trouble we were in." 

"Oh." 

There's an awkward silence that follows, and she can literally hear the gears turning in Glimmer's head as she comes to terms with what all of that means. This is always the worst part, and it's why Adora hates talking about her time in foster care. She has long since come to terms with the fact that they were treated really shitty, and these moments are nothing more than comforting other people in their own horrific realization of _her_ life. 

But her and Glimmer are past that, it turns out. Not that she should expect any less—Glimmer lived through Adora's first year of therapy when she was coming to terms with it all herself. 

"How are you doing?" Is what Glimmer asks instead, her bright eyes finding Adora's, who is resisting the urge to tear up. 

One of the things she hates the most about how her trauma still affects her is the way she reacts to real kindness, to a genuine show of affection and love. It still blows her away, catching her off guard every single time. Despite that she knows she is loved, that love is so present in her life in every way imaginable—it still never ceases to surprise her, to make her heart swell with an indescribable feeling that she can only describe as gratitude. 

"I don't know," Adora admits, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them. "Nervous, mostly." 

Glimmer raises an eyebrow. "Nervous?" 

Adora's voice is quiet as she replies, "I'm afraid she hates me for leaving her." 

"I'm sure she doesn't hate you..." 

"You didn't see her that day, Glim," Adora says, willing her voice not to quiver. "The way she cried when we woke up and my shit was packed." 

What she doesn't mention is about the way she cried, too, and the way that Angella had hugged her on the porch step had only made her cry more. Adora doesn't mention her own secrets that she has long since buried, despite the way that they want to wriggle to the surface like a worm after a heavy rain. It makes her bones ache deep beneath her skin, as if she is being seared from the inside out. 

She doesn't mention the way that her heart aches when she remembers Catra, either. 

"I promised I would call her," Adora continues. "I only ever got a message to Weaver, or the voicemail. All my letters came back to the house. I never thought I would see her again." 

A heavy moment passes between them, and she takes the opportunity to take a deep breath in and out. 

Glimmer opens her mouth to say something, but Adora stops her with a tight smile. "C'mon, it's getting cold. I'm ready for bed." 

Her roommate starts to glare at her, but is interrupting by a particularly large yawn that leaves tears in the corner of her eyes. "Fine. But this conversation isn't over, Adora." 

They murmur quiet goodbyes to each other in the stillness of the house, the only sound the quiet buzzing of white noise in Adora's ears. 

She lays in bed, staring at that same stupid photo again—the only close-up of just Catra, dual-toned eyes sharp and staring directly into the camera lens. They sparkle just like she remembers, pulling emotions out of her that she thought had long raveled themselves. That perfect smirk, just a twitch away from a sneer, lips full and— 

_Fuck_. 

Catra is as beautiful as ever, and the years apart have been more than kind to her. Catra has always been lean and lithe, but now she's filled out just enough with the soft touch of adulthood. She can see the glint of piercings—that look way, way too unfairly hot on her—and tattoos that peak from the waistband of her pants, the sleeve of her jacket. Adora unconsciously bites her lip as she wonders what it would be like to trace the designs, to follow their path up and down Catra's body. 

Adora had never acted on her feelings for Catra—she couldn't, couldn't risk ruining everything all for the rush of what she had assumed was teenage hormones. She's felt the ache of a love lost for all these years, and now that a hint of hope was there, it was like every feeling rushing back all at once: desire, regret, guilt. 

She's almost surprised she hasn’t even tried to look at their page on Spotify, and decides to immediately do just that. They have a few full-length albums out, though their earlier releases are all LPs. She settles onto her back, earbuds firmly in place and decides to listen to the first song from their first listed LP. It’s the only way to listen, she thinks, and hopes that maybe it will give her enough of a glimpse into Catra's life that she can stop feeling so goddamn guilty. 

She closes her eyes to let the music really hit her, but what she doesn't expect is the way that hearing Catra's voice for the first time in years. 

" _[I felt alive for a little while...](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZnMm7dMoet4&ab_channel=TheTinyMajority%20)" _

It's exactly how she remembers it, that hint of a rasp so familiar it makes goosebumps break out across her skin. Catra's voice may as well be like honey dripping across her tongue, so sweet in Adora's ears that she can practically feel her body relaxing at the familiar sound. 

" _I said that I could be just what you wanted, as if I could ever keep a promise..."_

The lyrics shoot through her and trigger memories she had buried a long time ago, ripping them fresh out of their grave and into the forefront of her mind. It's been a long time since she's let herself feel them this deeply, let herself relive those days. She thought she had numbed them out by this point, but the sudden and overwhelming wave of tears that well up in her eyes. Even though her door is shut and Glimmer and Bow probably fell asleep the moment their heads hit the pillow, her hand comes up to cover her mouth, afraid her quiet gasps are too loud in the still silence of the house. 

" _You have eyes in every room_ ," Catra's voice croons, the music slowing down to frame the bridge, " _But you won't see me, you won't see me walk away..._ " 

She could wonder what drove Catra to get into music, but she doesn't need to. It's the same reason she did—to make sense of her life, to cope, to try to get through every day as if it wasn't harder than the last. 

" _Could have sworn I heard you laughing in the doorway..."_

Catra's voice in her ears is so goddamn sweet, able to envision every word of this, heart racing as it simultaneously clenches and squeezes. She hates the way she feels, but she knows she doesn't deserve to feel any other way. She deserves the guilt, because she left Catra and— 

" _I don't like myself when I'm awake..."_

The song ends, guitar fading out and Adora practically rips out her headphones so she can take a moment to collect herself again. Tears sting hot as they trail down her face, leaving cold spots on her pillow where they settle and cool. She breathes slowly in and out, counting the seconds methodically, trying to will her heart to stop pounding like a jackhammer inside of her chest. 

In the silence, her ears ring but she can also hear her ragged inhales as they slowly even out, despite the tears that continue to fall. 

"Fuck," she breathes aloud, pushing the stray hairs away that have stuck to her forehead. She's only in a T-shirt and her boxers, but she can feel a thin layer of sweat that's spread over her body. She used to wake up like this, drenched in sweat, all the time when she was first getting used to living with Angella and Micah. She would wake up in tears from nightmares, her breath caught in her throat so that all that came out was choked whimpers for help. 

Hands shaking, she swallows back her anxiety medication along with a hefty gulp of water. She hasn't needed them in a while, and she's suddenly thankful that she didn't throw them out after the first few months without them. She forces herself to lay down, close her eyes and waits for sleep to come. 

It's the first night in long while that she has to force herself in bed, even while knowing her meds won't take affect for another hour. Her mind is spinning, but she knows that if she doesn't _try_ to relax, she'll get too vivid dreams and wake up groggy and exhausted. Adora lays there until she feels the edges of her consciousness beginning to haze over, and the blissful waves of sleep finally pull her under. 

Just as she is about to tip over the edge into the strange haze of medication-induced sleep, her phone buzzes loudly beneath her pillow. She ignores it, only momentarily bothered by the brief hiccup. 

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt._

Groaning, she turns over to glare at her phone, before her eyes shoot wide open. 

_hordescum has accepted your follow request!_  
 _hordescum followed you!_  
 _New message from hordescum!_

_hordescum:_ _hey, adora_   
_hordescum: I missed you, too_

Adora can't resist the huge grin on her face, only barely holding back the urge to giggle in her pillow like a teenager. Her heart thuds quickly in her chest again, this time a pleasant flutter beneath her ribs. 

_She_ra: Hi!!!!!_   
_She_ra: Catra I'm literally so happy right now, fuck I never thought I was going to see you again ever_   
_She_ra: ...I'm sorry is your handle "hordes cum" ???_

_hordescum:_ _first of all i'm bullying you for saying handle_  
 _hordescum: its an @_ _you absolute grandpa_  
 _hordescum: second of all fuck you its clearly HORDE SCUM why does no one fucking read it that way_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for this chapter is "it hurts until it doesn't" by mothers! 
> 
> i imagine catra's voice as...not as whiny and "sad indie girl" sounding as the original singers, so use your imagination.


	4. your fingerprints on my skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adora meets catra. adora falls in love (again).

"-dora? _Helloooo_?"

"What? Huh?" Adora sputters, blinking rapidly, trying to ignore the heaviness of her eyelids. 

Glimmer and Bow are staring at her from across the kitchen table. "You almost fell asleep in your cereal."

Adora looks sheepishly down, to her soggy bowl of Cheerios that her face had...admittedly gotten dangerously close to. She rubs her eyes with a frown, shoveling the cereal groggily into her mouth. 

"You're not going to work—" Glimmer decides despite Adora's grumbling dissent. "Nope, don't give me that! I don't even think you're legal to drive when you take those horse tranquilizers."

"Glimmer, no, I have to go to work—"

"I'm going to have to agree with Glimmer on this one," Bow says, mouth pressed into a tight line of concern. "You're in no state to be around dangerous and heavy machinery."

Adora hasn't called out in years, possibly ever. She is just kind of like that. She thinks the only time that she ever called out before was when she got hit with a case of stomach flu so bad she lost twenty pounds—and that was still only really because she couldn't leave the bathroom. 

But her first class starts in an hour and a half and she still felt like she was moving through jello. She remembers quickly why she had stopped taking these things at all, much preferring to sustain herself with caffeine after sleepless nights. 

Adora sighs. "Yeah, let me text Netossa. Fuck..."

Her excuse is pitiful, but her manager's response is almost immediate: _No worries, feel better. You have plenty of PTO. Rest up._

After texting Netossa, she's suddenly reminded of her late night conversation with Catra last night. She lets out an internal groan as she realizes that she probably made a fool of herself. Thankfully, when she scrolls through her messages, she didn't do anything embarrassing, but it was clear when her medication had started to take effect.

_She_ra: Ummmmmf hefy I thifnjt itddddddddd bedtisne fgor eme_   
_She_ra: mtmttook mne nedsaa nd v htured_

_hordescum: .....wow i cannot decipher this_   
_hordescum: night adora_

_She_ra: mmmmmgm godfngight_

Adora snorts to herself reading it, taking a screenshot just for posterity, before typing out a new message.

_She_ra: I'm so sorry I ended up taking my Ativan last night and it makes me loopy_   
_She_ra: I hope I didn't get too weird haha_

_She_ra: Are we still on for tonight?_

Apparently, Catra is decidedly _not_ a morning person, as she doesn't text Adora back until nearly noon.

_hordescum: yep_   
_hordescum: you feeling ok?_

Adora can't resist the small smile that the sentiment brings. 

_She_ra: Yeah, I did call out of work though._

_hordescum: whaaaaat?_   
_hordescum: adora? calling out of work?_   
_hordescum: wow time really did change you_

_She_ra: :P_   
_She_ra: I was falling asleep in my cereal_   
_She_ra: I don't want to think about if I had fallen asleep in my lifting class_

_hordescum: oh please, you used to run miles in first period gym half asleep_

_She_ra: Yeah, when I was, like, 14!_   
_She_ra: I have a NORMAL sleep schedule and don't run myself ragged and half-exhausted anymore!_   
_She_ra: ...Usually._

* * *

It's strange getting to know Adora all over again. 

Of course, Adora is still the same dorky, grossly optimistic girl as she was the day Catra met her. Catra knows her like the back of her own hand—she still has the same stupid ponytail, the same disgustingly beautiful smile, and the same laugh that makes stars shine in her eyes. 

But there are new things to learn about her, too. She lives with two roommates, one of whom is her adopted sister—which sends a sense of relief through Catra that is honestly embarrassing—and works as a trainer at a local gym. 

Catra's resentment still sits in her chest, like a little black void that she's forcing down smaller and smaller, feeling it press uncomfortably against her ribs when a pulse of hurt flashes through her. 

But there are also things that make Catra's heart flutter and pulse so violently her smile threatens to rip her face in two. She tells Adora about going to school, about her job at the tattoo shop, and about living in this stupid fancy house with Scorpia. 

_She_ra: I'm so proud of you_   
_She_ra: That's so amazing!!!_

Her first reaction is to rear back, to spit out words of venom that she knows can corrode even the strongest of bonds. It is Weaver's voice creeping back into her subconscious, the way she would whisper in her ear about how _sorry_ everyone felt for her, how sorry Adora felt for her. There is nothing she despises more than the pity. But she stops herself, takes a deep breath. Adora doesn't pity her—her reaction is genuine, sincere, and her urge to snap back is just the hurt bubbling back up. 

She finds that the black hole of bitterness that sits beneath her chest slowly collapses in on itself as they talk more. She wants to stay mad, wants to hold onto it like her life depends on it—but she finds it slipping through her fingers far easier than she ever intended it to. 

If there's anything Catra is good at, it's holding a grudge. 

Which is why it seems so silly in this moment, that hurt that she held deep in her heart so long, that she held as a lifeline to remind her that she could feel at all just _disappeared_ the moment Adora showed back up in her life. 

When Catra finally ends up rolling out of bed, it's almost noon, way later than she usually gets up—even on her days off. She grumbles sleepily as she pulls her hair into a ponytail and pads down the stairs, rubbing her eyes and giving a big yawn as she finishes descending into the living room. 

"Good morning, sunshine!" Scorpia calls teasingly from their large dining table, where she's spread out her own collection of textbooks and notebooks to trudge through her work for the day. "Late night?"

Catra opens her mouth to retort something snarky, but is interrupted by a particularly large yawn that leaves tears in the corner of her eyes. She nods instead, grabbing a mug from the cupboard and pouring herself a cup of surprisingly still warm coffee. She hides her smile as she sips at the gently steaming drink. 

"Yeah, something like that," she says. 

It's hard to stay mad at Adora, it turns out. 

They had talked until Adora had gotten incoherent and presumably fell asleep. The last couple texts from her had been absolute nonsense, and Catra was looking forward to tease her about it later. 

They had agreed to meet up for drinks at Desert Rose after Adora got off work, the same bar that she had seen Adora playing at the other night. Catra decided to pointedly not mention that part, mostly due to embarrassment at her absolute meltdown, but also because she felt like she needed some kind of upper hand. 

Which means that she has five more hours to kill, with these horrific butterflies in her chest. 

"Soooo... How busy are you today?"

Scorpia's eyes drift down to her textbooks, before she swiftly collects them all into a neat pile. "Oh, it seems my schedule is suddenly clear, look at that."

* * *

It is always strange when she does what they refer to as her "acoustic" sets, just her and her bass without Glimmer or Bow there. It's a different kind of vulnerability, being up on the stage all alone. But it's a good way to pass the time and make a few dollars while she waits for Catra to arrive, and Huntara is always willing to let her play if nothing else is lined up. 

There aren't many bar patrons yet at four in the afternoon, but there's more than she maybe anticipated. She could say that's the cause for her shaking hands, but she was nervous long before she had walked into the bar. A few of them lift their heads to watch her as the music from the speakers is cut, Adora plugging her amp in and strumming a little warm up to get her fingers moving again. Slowly, she lets the meandering scales morph into a rhythmic bass line, one foot propped up on the barstool and the other tapping a beat along the scuffed stage floor. 

"[ _Wanted her to kiss me how, with open mouth and open mouth_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6MByUQJQrLI&ab_channel=HayleyWilliams) ," she begins, voice low, eyes closing almost automatically as she feels herself sinking into the familiar embrace of music. The crowd isn't paying particular attention to her today, enjoying their meals and drinks in the ambience that her voice provided. " _We keep our distance now, I wanna feel her hands go down..._ "

Okay, so maybe she's nervous because it turns out she's just as in love with her childhood best friend as she was the day she left. She hasn't even _seen_ Catra yet, but she remember these feelings like it was yesterday. She can feel the way her heart has threatened to burst out of her chest in the last two days, as if it physically pulling her to Catra. This sensation hasn't died down at all either—if anything, it's grown stronger, more insistent the closer that they get to seeing one another again. 

Adora can only describe it as the sweetest kind of hurt, a longing ache that she knows she'll never get soothed. 

She's not sure how long she plays—she could measure it by a good couple of songs, but they all eventually bleed together anyway. 

When she reaches the end of her fourth or fifth song, she keeps up the rhythmic pluck of her strings as a meandering outro, before she finds the breath knocked out of her lungs when she finally opens her eyes and looks up. 

Fuck, if Catra had been stunning in photos on her tiny phone screen, she is absolutely blinding in person. That familiar smirk pulling her lips up, bright eyes staring right through Adora just like they always have. Those eyes have always managed to pull her in, to make her forget that anything else exists in the world except for the two of them. 

And that's exactly how she feels now, even after almost ten years. 

"Hey, Adora."

She stumbles as she turns off the mic and scrambles off the stage as gracefully as she can. She gets a few whoops and scattered applause from the bar floor that has slowly begun to fill up in the last hour, which cause her to give a breathless, if somewhat embarrassed smile to Catra. She hops down the stage with a bounding step and stops herself before stepping further—unsure, afraid, hands twitching at her side as she resists the instinct to pull Catra to her chest and not let go. 

Instead, she bounces awkwardly on her heels and gestures vaguely to her. 

"H-Hey, Catra," Adora stutters, with a wide, bright grin on her face. "Wow—look at you, I mean—you look great."

Catra stares at her with a blank sort of look for a moment, as if she's processing, before she gives a laugh, tucking her hands into the pockets of her sleek leather jacket. "Yeah, well, so do you. The new look...suits you."

They take a seat together at the bar, and it takes everything within Adora to not _clearly_ check Catra out as she crosses her legs in a pair of sleek leggings, mesh inlays placed to show off the divet of lean muscle in her thighs. They stare at each other in awkward silence for a second, before bursting out into giggles. 

"This is like, a little weird, right?" Catra asks, the deep maroon of her lipstick matching the flush in her cheeks. "Please tell me it's not just me?"

"No, this is kind of weird," Adora laughs. "Want a drink? My treat today."

"What a gentleman," Catra responds, smirking. "Yeah, do they have food too? I'm kind of starving."

"Oh, the food's great!" Adora grabs a menu from behind the bar, leaning towards Catra to show her the menu. "I mean, you really can't go wrong with anything they have, but the big favorites are their wings and—oh, their mozzarella sticks are so good, I'll get some for us to share—I, I mean, if you want, sorry." 

Just as Adora's brain begins to spiral, worrying that she's stepped over boundaries and walls that have grown in their years apart, Catra's hand comes to rest on her arm. Adora looks up at Catra then, and finds herself absolutely dumbstruck at the soft smile on Catra's face. At this distance, only inches away, she can see the little spattering of freckles across Catra's cheeks, and her heart palpitates a little as they make eye contact. 

"Relax, Adora," Catra says, her smile bringing out that familiar glint of mischief in her eyes. "We're okay."

Adora lets go of a tension she hadn't realized she was holding, hoping that her smile hides the flush she can feel on her cheeks. She opens her mouth to say something else, but she catches Mermista heading towards them from the kitchen and waves her over. 

"Oh, hey Adora." Mermista leans her elbows on the counter in front of them, eyeing the two of them up without a hint of subtlety. A thick, perfectly sculpted eyebrow raises at the sight of Catra, Mermista's head tilting to the side. "You're back so soon. Wait, you two know each other?"

_Fuck, that's right, I have to pretend I wasn't a total creep by snooping for her profiles_. 

Adora is prepared to laugh it off and go on ordering food and drinks, if only to spare herself the embarrassment of having to explain her totally-not-creepy-and-stalkerish-in-any-way methods of finding Catra again after all these years. But Catra looks just as red-handed as she does, and suddenly Adora realizes something. 

"Wait, you were here the night we were playing, weren't you?" 

A moment passes where their eyes lock, and she sees reflected in Catra's eyes her own fears. 

Mermista mumbles something under her breath and quickly excuses herself from this obviously private moment, faster than Adora has maybe ever seen her. But it causes their brief spell of magnetism to break, the both of them looking anywhere but each other. 

There is a still silence, before Adora asks in an uncharacteristically small voice, "Why didn't you say anything that night? I—I've missed you for so long, Catra. Tried to—"

"I was scared, okay, Adora?" Catra snaps, hands clenching and unclenching on the table in front of her the way they always used to. She looks up at Adora again, her eyes and voice soften. "When you left, I didn't hear from you and I..." A pause. "I thought I had been left behind."

A part of Adora's heart breaks, and it's almost physically painful to resist pulling Catra to her chest and holding her. 

"I'd never do that on purpose, you know that."

Catra sighs, a tension deflating out of her. "I _know_ that now, I just—For so many years, I let myself think the worst and it's...hard to convince myself otherwise. I saw you—and I panicked, okay?"

A pause. "I tried, you know," Adora says, her quiet voice barely audible over the ambient noises of the bar. "To call, to write—I have a pile of letters all marked 'Return to Sender.'"

Catra bites the inside of her cheek, staring down at the granite bar top before she laughs to herself—but it is hollow, bitter. She recognizes the look in Catra's eyes; it's a façade of numbness that Catra has always pushed to the front to hide whatever was really going on in her head. It is a painful kind of nostalgia in that moment, one that brings Adora back to places she never wanted to return to. 

"Of course she did," Catra mutters, letting out another bitter sigh. "Weaver... I just don't know what she had against me. What I fucking did to her."

"You didn't _do_ anything, Catra. She took personal pleasure out of torturing defense foster kids who were unfortunate enough to land in her house."

"Yeah, you're right. I know you're right."

Catra is silent for a moment, face turned upwards but her eyes closed. Her nails tap on the bar in an even rhythm that follows the deep, slow breathes she takes in—and out. 

Adora can't help but take this moment to really take her in. 

Up close, she can see so much more than she could in her initial survey. Despite their years apart, the image of Catra's face has never left her memory, and she notices imperceptible changes. Like the hint of smile lines that are beginning to show on her face, or how Catra plucks her eyebrows into a slightly different shape, now. There's a small scar on her scalp just behind her ear that wouldn't be noticeable if she didn't have an undercut. 

Then, Catra takes a heavy sigh out, and turns her shoulders back to Adora. It lights up parts of Adora that she didn't think could get any brighter. 

"I'm okay now," Catra says, smiling. "But I _really_ need a drink after that."

"I have to confess something first," Adora grimaces, covering her face with her hands, barely peeking out to see Catra's face beneath her makeshift shield. "Uh, I only found you because of the business card you left with your demo that night. I'm sorry that's super stalker-y and creepy and—"

"Adora, please literally just calm down," Catra interrupts, rolling her eyes. "Look, if the positions had been switched... I would have done the same thing probably. Plus my social media is so locked up, I was honestly impressed at the amount of effort it must have taken to find it." 

"Yeah... Why is that?"

Catra's eyes shift into a distant scowl aimed towards the back of the bar. "Fucking Weaver likes to harass me every so often. Her drinking got worse in the last few years before I left, so whenever she goes on benders she used to find my profiles and send me nasty shit. Tried to file a restraining order—didn't work, but since I changed my name it's gotten a lot harder for her to find me."

Adora takes the opportunity to shift the subject to something lighter. 

"Yeah, _Mister Grayskull_ ," Adora says, a shit-eating grin spreading across her whole face. 

She doesn't fail to notice the blush that paints Catra's cheeks, despite her dramatic groan of protest. "I _knew_ you were gonna give me shit about that—"

"Oh, what ever could you _mean,_ Catra?" Adora asks. "Could you perhaps be referring to that Grayskull was once the name of a remarkably handsome blonde you know?"

"Ok, don't get a big head about it," Catra responds, rolling her eyes. "Oh wait—you already have one."

Adora gives a theatric wince, hand coming up to her chest. "Man, right to the finishing blows, huh?"

"You know me," Catra says with a devilish smirk that makes Adora's heart skip a beat. "I always go right for the kill."

_If only you knew_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song featured for this chapter is "sudden desire" by hayley williams!
> 
> just a heads up, i'm scheduled for top surgery in a few days! this could either mean the next chapter could come out super fast because i'll be stuck at home all week in recovery or i will be too blitzed on pain medication and it'll take a little.


	5. i've been obsessing in the worst way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maybe catra miscalculated when she thought she could do this.

"Catra, you look _fine_ , let's get a move on!"

"I know, I know, just give me a sec!" 

Catra scowls at Scorpia's reflection in her mirror as she continues to fiddle with her hair. She's been trying to decide if she wants to wear it up or down...basically for the last hour that she has been trying to get ready. 

Adora had invited her—and by proxy, Scorpia—out to Desert Rose again to watch her play a show, meet her roommates and get a drink together after. Normally, this would be considered a low-stress social outing, filled with good music, good drinks and a pleasant buzz on her way home. But Catra has been uncharacteristically fretting over her appearance in preparation for tonight, and she would rather die than admit why.

"Catra!" Scorpia calls from downstairs. "We're going to be late if we wait any longer!"

She lets out a dramatic groan before spritzing a few sprays of perfume in her hair and leaving a hair tie on her wrist just in case she changes her mind (again). She picks off a piece of lint from the maroon crop top she's wearing, emblazoned with CRIMSON WASTES in bold white print and shrugs on her leather jacket. She looks herself up and down in the mirror one more time, before nodding to herself in approval and running down the stairs. 

"Okay, okay, let's go." 

The bar is significantly more packed tonight than it had been last weekend, and it takes _forever_ to find parking that's close enough. They end up having to pay for beachside parking which Catra grumbles about, but she knows that it's her own fault for taking so long to get ready. The two of them wade through the crowd of already gently-buzzed bar patrons to order drinks. There's only one seat open at the bar, closest to the stage, and she's grateful that Scorpia lets her take it, opting to stand next to her instead. 

Mermista is making drinks with a deftness and grace that shouldn't be possible considering how absolutely slammed she is. There's another woman behind the bar helping her, who is taller and beefier than Scorpia even. Catra is able to wave her down to order their drinks, and before long Mermista is placing their glasses on coasters in front of them without a second glance. 

Scorpia takes a gratifying sip of her beer before giving Catra a raised eyebrow. "Mixed drink? You okay, Wildcat?"

Catra takes a drink of her rum and coke, idly noting that Mermista gave her the _good_ rum, before shrugging. "I'm...I don't know, a little nervous? Needed to take the edge off."

Scorpia smirks. "Whatcha got to be nervous about?"

Catra flushes a deep red. "Nothing, shut up already."

"Uh-huh. I sure am excited to meet them though!"

"I haven't met her other friends yet," Catra says. "So don't get too excited. They could be total freaks or something."

Scorpia snorts. " _We're_ total freaks, so they'd fit right in."

"Damn, you're right. What if they're, like...normies?"

"Well, then you just give me the sign and I'll fake an emergency and we'll get the hell out of here."

Catra smiles and affectionately elbows Scorpia in the ribs, trying to ignore the restless anxiety gently simmering in her chest. 

There's no real _reason_ to be anxious but she feels it anyway, sipping quickly at her drink hoping that the alcohol will wash over her and calm her nerves. She's craving the release of nicotine, but she doesn't want to miss any of the show, or lose her seat, so her fingers fidget idly against the denim of her jeans instead. She checks her phone, if only to occupy herself for a moment, before bringing Scorpia in to snap a selfie. 

She sends it to Adora, along with a brief text: _knock em dead, princess. looking forward to it._

Almost immediately, she receives a text back. It's a picture of Adora, front and center, with Glimmer and Bow on either side giving the camera a big grin. Catra can't help but smile as she looks at the excited glint in Adora's clear blue eyes. The picture comes with a caption: _Almost ready! See you out there! ;)_

After a moment of gazing far too dreamily at her phone, she hears hooting and hollering and whips her head to the stage where said trio is now settling in. Catra pretends like the wind isn't knocked out of her looking at Adora, whose ridiculously toned arms are out on display again today. Her shirt reads SUNS OUT, GUNS OUT and when she catches Catra's gaze, she gives her a grin and a wink. 

It doesn't do anything to Catra, not one bit. Nope. 

There's the typical clamor of testing out their sound, getting their hands warmed up with quick strums of strings and drum pedal beats—nothing exciting, but enough for an eager crowd to begin to cheer and clap every now and then. Every band is different in how they start a show, and just as Catra is beginning to wonder how Friends of Mara begins, she hears the clack of drumsticks and " _One-two-three-four!_ " and the world around her erupts into sound.

Watching Adora play is an experience that is completely new, but all too familiar at the same time. She had seen her last week for a few brief moments, sure, but the shock of it all had prevented her from really paying attention. Tonight, she just gets to sit back and watch, to drink it all in. 

"[ _So where do we go? How did we get ourselves into it_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvVDfGdkd-A&ab_channel=Oakman-Topic)[?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvVDfGdkd-A&ab_channel=Oakman-Topic)"

Adora is a crowd-pleaser, a fact which does not and should not surprise Catra in the least.

Adora has always been the type to go above and beyond because of some innate need for approval, to know she's done a good job. Performing is no different—and in a way, it is _all_ about seeking the audience approval. The thrill of a roaring crowd is a feeling that Catra finds herself all too wound up in herself, an exhilaration that encompasses her entire body and gets her high on it. It's a special kind of selfishness she allows herself, the enjoyment of eyes and ears on her—and she thinks that Adora might experience it the same way. 

" _I think it's clear enough!_ " Adora sings, dark brows furrowed together and bared teeth shining in the stage lights overhead. "W _e have to run away to save what remains!_ "

Watching Adora is like watching lightning strike the same spot over and over again—breathtaking, unimaginable, and awe-inspiring all in one. It's in the way that Adora moves with the music, the way her eyes flutter closed and how her lips curl around the lyrics. Catra finds herself enraptured, her gaze stuck completely on Adora and failing to waver, even when the spotlight would shift to the other members (--what were their names again?). 

As the music fades from the final chords of their opener, Adora uses the break of applause to take a quick swig of water before addressing the crowd. 

"Thanks everyone," she says almost breathlessly, grinning from ear to ear. "We are Friends of Mara and we hope you guys like our show!"

Their style is a little more...cotton candy fluff than Catra's personal taste, but it works for Friends of Mara, and they're not half-bad. They all seem to have a natural talent for their instruments, and their connection and ability to cue each other makes any transitions seamless. The music also seems to work for the now tastefully buzzed crowd, who seem to enjoy swaying and dancing along to the beat. 

"[ _Well, I've been dead all day, could you tell? Could you tell?_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o4MdRTSpg_4&ab_channel=HopelessRecords) "

Catra finds herself feeling tastefully buzzed now too, having finished her first two drinks and waiting for her third. She sips at the glass of ice water the two of them are sharing, thankful for the coolness. It always gets way too warm during a show, between hot lights, too many bodies crowded together and the alcohol that isn't really alleviating that feeling at all. But she feels a little less overwhelmed being away from the throng of the crowd, and with Scorpia's presence next to her. 

"What do you think?" Catra yells into Scorpia's ear when she can finally pull herself away from watching Adora. 

"They're not bad!" Scorpia admits. "You're definitely a better guitarist though."

Catra's eyes narrow and drift over to the guitarist—Glimmer, it must be. Her nose crinkles as she looks at Glimmer's lavender Ibanez, it's pristine veneer shining off of the stage lights. Excessive and ridiculously expensive, she doesn't even want to think about how much that thing cost. Despite her own urge to sneer, Scorpia's right—Glimmer _is_ good, fingers flying across the frets as she moves along with the music, occasionally leaning into her mic to provide back-up vocals. What she lacks in experience and discipline she makes up for in natural talent and connection to the music itself, so Catra will give her a passing grade for now. 

" _I feel like Abraham on his little trip, when all he found was death and pain and he never regretted it, oh—!"_

Eyes scanning across the crowded bar, Catra makes a mental note that this is _definitely_ a lesbian bar. She's pretty sure the only guy in the entire place is Bow, eyeing more and more pairs of women entangling lips and teeth and tongue in both secluded corners and openly amidst the throng of people on the open stretch of the makeshift dance floor. 

Catra's body is starting to become pleasantly fuzzy, and she turns down another drink refill in favor of sipping steadily on water. She listens to Adora's voice and lets it continue to carry her along in the slowly growing feeling of homesickness and longing. It's a bittersweet ache, one that she lets herself revel in probably far too often. It wraps around her like an old blanket that smells like late night whispers and summer thunderstorms, of their fingers intertwined and the way she used to stare at Adora's sleeping face and wonder what it would be like to taste the salt of her skin. 

The show continues on throughout the night, and it's probably the first night out in a while that Catra really lets herself enjoy. The alcohol buzzes pleasantly beneath her skin, her eyes fluttering closed every now and then as the drum beats and bass lines reverberate through her bones. Even Scorpia is enjoying herself, despite just having tagged along for moral support, and that knowledge helps ease Catra's anxiety, too. The current song fades out with a crisp chord strum, the two of them joining in on the applause and whooping in the brief silence that follows. 

Adora takes a several large gulps of water, a few drops spilling past her lips and dripping down her neck and to her collarbone. She wipes a sheen of sweat from her forehead, the heat of the lights and rush of adrenaline taking visible effect after keeping up the energy and momentum for this long. Catra unconsciously licks her lips as she watches Adora's muscles flex beneath the stage lights, willing the heat of desire curling inside of her to go away. 

"All right," Adora murmurs into the microphone, voice rough and a little breathless. "Our time is almost up tonight, so we're gonna wind down with one last song. Thanks so much for coming out guys, as always it has been a pleasure."

Glimmer gently begins to strum, stage lights dimming by just a few degrees that makes the small venue feel even more intimate. 

"[ _I love the way you sing, oh, I've been tryna copy every word you say_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rKWJICaKYGY&ab_channel=OrlaGartlandVEVO)..." 

Their style so far has been high energy, fun and easy to listen to; this song shifts the mood enough for Catra to notice. She can almost see the way Adora's body relaxes as she plays, lashes shining blonde in the light as they rest against her cheeks. 

_"I wish I didn't care, but no_ _,"_ Adora croons, dark brows furrowing together. " _Oh, maybe I'm the one she had to outgrow."_

The tone makes something in Catra's chest tighten, an incomprehensible feeling crawling up her throat and choking her up just for a moment. 

To her, Adora has always been confidence incarnate, the shining beacon of perfection and how to do everything right. She was Weaver's favorite simply because she was so naturally _good_ at everything—talented, obedient, motivated. Adora's vulnerability has always been a part of her that Catra has only ever seen sparing glimpses of, in darkened bedrooms where they couldn't see each other's tears. 

" _And look, it's true, it's true, it's true, I got all these insecurities and there's nothing you can do, do, do, do..._ "

It feels strange to see Adora take herself apart on stage—but maybe it shouldn't be, Catra reasons with herself. After all, she does the exact same thing, right? 

Sure, she hides the cutting fragility of her lyrics behind swathes of her powerhouse vocals, dynamic chords and an unrelenting tempo, but she bares her scars on stage all the same. Her music makes her feel like a survivor, a warrior marked by all the battles she lost but endured all the same. Adora's song reminds her of her therapist's office, all soft, crisp surfaces and her insides being laid out raw and bare in front of her. 

" _But please don't be so perfect right in front of me, I think of all the things I will never be_..."

Maybe she doesn't notice until it's too late, distracted by watching the glimpses of Adora's lips parting and pursing together as she sings, but Catra's eyes flick up and Adora is staring right at her. Catra's breath catches in her chest at the gentle smile that creeps across Adora's face as she sings, unable to look away. 

Her face is hot, but that's just the alcohol—probably. 

Maybe. 

Finally, the music fades and the trio walk off-stage, shuffling off to a back room to wipe off their sweat and let the adrenaline high fade a little bit before joining them at the bar. The lights of the bar change, keeping a low, dull ambience but taking the focus off of the stage now that the band was done. Catra's heart is still beating a little erratic in her chest, but she goes ahead and orders another drink. Her last one of the night, probably, just something to hold and sip at for her nerves to meet Adora's friends. 

"Take my seat," Catra tells Scorpia, wincing at her stiff joints as she hops off of the bar stool. "I'll be back in a minute, just going for a smoke break."

She didn't realize how hot it had gotten inside of the bar until she steps out, and the cool seaside breeze is a literal breath of fresh air. It cools the sheen on sweat that had accumulated on her forehead and scalp, and she pulls her hair out of its ponytail to let the breeze run through it. She sits down in a patio chair in the corner, away from the steady stream of bar patrons who are closing out their tabs and heading out for the night. She takes her first inhale of her cigarette and sighs in relief, already feeling the calming effect washing over her body and relaxing. 

"Mind if I join you?" 

Catra looks up, ready to give some random stranger her "not interested" act, but it's just the bartender who had been serving her all night. She wordlessly gestures to the seat across from her, the woman sits and lights up her own cigarette. 

"I'm Huntara," she introduces herself, one foot perched on a massively muscular thigh. "I own the place."

That gets Catra's attention. 

"Nice to meet you," Catra manages to say, though she feels like the words a little heavy in her mouth, worried that they're coming out clumsy. "Catra."

"You dropped off that demo last week, right?" Catra nods, this newfound information still taking it's time to process through her head. "It was good."

"U-Uh, thank you," she replies, scrambling for something else to say. "I, uh, I'm a friend of Adora's."

"So she tells me," Huntara says, taking a long drag of her cigarette. "How do you feel about playing on Friday? We can try it out next weekend. See how the crowd likes you."

The question catches Catra so off guard, she sputters and chokes on smoke, raising her elbow to her mouth to hack out the gritty taste of tobacco. Her cheeks burn at the moment of brief embarrassment, but she's nodding before she can even speak. 

"Y-Yeah, yes, I'd love that," she finally manages to get out. "Thank you!"

Huntara shrugs, and in the motion Catra can see rippling muscles beneath her form-fitted outfit for the night. "I like your sound, and Adora vouched for you. That's enough in my book to give you a chance. Friends of Mara brings me a lot of customers on Saturday nights, and I'm hoping you'll do the same for my Fridays." With that, Huntara snubs out her cigarette and stands up, slipping Catra a business card. "Give me a call sometime this week and we'll work out the details."

Left alone now, Catra can't help the huge grin that spreads across her entire face, only barely resisting the urge to kick her legs in excitement. It had been _months_ since their last gig, and she had just been starting to lose hope that they would book a real venue again—or at least one that would make them a little bit of cash. Not that any of them were really hurting for cash, but the allure of being able to quit her job and just do music full time was always an attractive one. 

When she makes her way back inside, she's surprised to see that Scorpia is not where she left her. She turns her head when she hears her name called, to see Scorpia waving her arm at a table in the opposite corner of the bar. She makes her way over, Adora and her friends joining Scorpia. 

She doesn't miss the way Adora's face lights up when she sees her, the way those stars in her eyes shimmer and twinkle just at the sight of her. Catra gulps down the feelings that observation brings, choosing instead to give an awkward smile and wave as she approaches the table. 

Of course, the moment she's close enough Adora pulls her into a hug that Catra returns without a second thought. Adora's arms clutch tight around her waist, and it takes everything in Catra's willpower not to let out a dreamy sigh as Adora's scent fills her nose. She smells mostly like sweat and the tang of metal, always a sign of a well-played show, but there's a hint of something fresher beneath it that Catra can't quite parse out in this moment. 

"You did so good," Catra murmurs into Adora's ear. "Thanks for inviting me."

"Thanks for coming!" Adora replies excitedly, giving her one last squeeze before they separate. She motions to her friends, who are sitting across from her at the table. "Bow, Glimmer, this is Catra!" 

Catra gives them a tight, awkward smile. "Hey, nice to meet you guys. Seems like you already met Scorpia."

"It's so good to finally meet you, Catra," Bow enthuses. "Adora's told us _so_ much about you!"

Catra can't help but smirk. "Oh? Has she?"

"Like, just before we went on she was telling us about the time you guys were kids and—"

"I-I don't really think we have to rehash everything word for word, _Bow_ ," Adora nervously laughs, shooting him a pleading look. "She was there, she remembers—"

"No, no, I wanna hear," Catra insists, a devious smirk unfurling on her face. "It's cute that you talk about me, 'Dora."

Adora stammers for a moment, face flushing before she crosses her arms and pouts. It's disgustingly adorable and makes Catra burst out into uncharacteristically loud giggles.

" _ Wait _ ," Glimmer interrupts, shoving a menu in Catra's face. "Please choose what you want to eat first, I am fucking  _ starving _ and if we get started on this path it may never end."

* * *

Adora's friends aren't half bad, Catra finds out. 

They're funny, genuine and, most importantly, not assholes. They let her and Scorpia join in on their post-show shots ritual, and toasting "For Mara!" with them doesn't feel as strange as it should to her. They don't keep to themselves, include her and Scorpia in all their conversations, and are just...generally likeable people. Despite that jealousy simmers in her chest at all the years they got to have with Adora that she didn't, she can't help but admit that she enjoys their company. 

As they drink, eat and talk, the bar grows quieter, the crowd having emptied out slowly over the last hour and half. It's getting to the time to say goodbye for the night, their plates empty, the alcohol starting to make her sleepy and dangerously affectionate. 

The table they're at is technically a four-top, her and Scorpia seated across from Bow and Glimmer, an extra chair pulled up to her side of the table for Adora to join them. The closeness means they've been casually brushing against each other all night, which has been driving Catra absolutely crazy. Adora hasn't given any indication that she's uncomfortable with it, so Catra has been taking every chance she can to touch, even if it's knees bumping together beneath the table or arms pressed just slightly together as they rest on the tabletop. 

She might call it pathetic— _should_ , probably—but she can't help herself. Especially because she's maybe a little more tipsy than she had intended on getting tonight, and she's feeling more touch-starved than usual. It's probably just because Adora is here, all her senses high on pheromones and that aching desire that resonates from deep within her chest. She just hopes she's not too obvious about it. 

"Ugh, well, we should probably start loading up our equipment," Glimmer groans, giving a big yawn and stretching out her back. 

"I can give you a hand if you'd like!" Scorpia cheerfully offers, standing up with her. 

"Oh, that's not necessary," Adora begins, before being cut off by Glimmer. 

"She does not speak for us," Glimmer says in a serious tone, taking Scorpia's hand. "Please, _please_ help us."

Catra can't help but laugh. "I'll give you guys a hand, too, I'm just gonna go have a cigarette real quick then I'll be right back." 

She's surprised when Adora offers to join her, and can't resist a good-natured ribbing. 

"I wouldn't have taken you for a smoker," Catra says. "What happened to my favorite goody two-shoes?"

"I don't, not really," she replies with a crinkle of her eyes and a laugh. Adora holds open the heavy pub-style door for her, following Catra to the same corner spot she had sat in before. "I'm more of a social smoker, I guess. I like one every once in a while, after a show or with a drink."

Catra pulls out her pack, pressing one between her lips before tossing the pack across the table to Adora. Without thinking, she lights her cigarette and tucks her lighter back into her jacket pocket, eyes fluttering shut with the soothing relief of the nicotine in her lungs once more. 

"Um." Catra opens her eyes, seeing Adora's sheepish face and raises an eyebrow. "I, uh, don't have a lighter. Can I use yours?"

"Oh, right," Catra mumbles, leaning forward as she fishes it back out of her pocket. "C'mere, lean in." 

Adora looks skeptical but does as she asks anyway. The two of them lean in to meet closer to the middle of the small patio table, and Catra pretends she doesn't notice the flush on Adora's cheeks. It's just the alcohol, the heat—whatever it is, it isn't her. 

But her mind is a little hazy, hands moving of their own accord as one comes up to gently hold Adora's jaw between her fingers. Her grip is a little shaky, fingernails digging just a touch into Adora's warm, _warm_ skin to keep herself steady as she lifts the flame up to Adora's cigarette. Their eyes lock as Adora takes in a deep inhale, and for a moment Catra is swept away by the intensity of her gaze. Adora's steely blue eyes burn into her, a mirrored reflection of that tiny flame scorching Catra from the inside out. That desire she's been trying to quell all night burns deep inside of her, roaring for a moment and threatening to consume her.

Catra's fingertips ghost along Adora's skin as she pulls away reluctantly, trying to find self-control within herself again. She can't just... _touch people_ like that, least of all Adora, even if the other woman didn't seem to mind. 

In fact, Adora's still leaning forward, almost expectantly, pupils blown wide and Catra can't help the satisfaction that simple observation sends through her. 

At Adora's wide-eyed questioning gaze, Catra just smirks and replies, "Pretty girls don't light their own cigarettes."

She thinks the image of Adora's embarrassed smile is burned into her mind forever. She wants to take everything from this moment and relive it over and over, even the longing that aches in her chest and burns in her lungs. 

She takes a drag of her cigarette and runs a hand through her hair, shivering at the feeling of the breeze running across her skin. The temperature had dropped a few more degrees while they were eating, and the chill bites through her leather jacket easier now that the crowd inside the bar wasn't there to keep her warm.

"You cold?" Adora asks. 

Catra shrugs. "It's fine, I'll be okay. Used to it."

"Here," she says, shrugging off the maroon flannel she had pulled on to go outside. "Put my shirt on."

"But won't you be cold?" Catra insists, despite the fact that her hands are already reaching for it. "You just have a t-shirt on."

"Nah," Adora reassures, a soft smile on her face and an indistinguishable look in her eyes. "I run hot. Plus, I'll be lifting gear in a few minutes and that always makes me sweat." 

She has to pull off her leather jacket and shiver at the cold wind on her bare midriff for a moment, but Catra pulls on Adora's flannel shirt to wear underneath her jacket and settles back into her seat. It takes everything in her not to pull the fabric to her nose and take a deep inhale, all of Adora's smells tickling her nose like the sweetest perfume. She gets hints of it as the breeze catches and falls, sending her senses into euphoria like a lovestruck puppy. 

It's only kind of pathetic. 

"Better?" Adora asks. 

"Yeah," Catra murmurs, looking up at Adora with soft eyes. "Much better." 

They sit like that for a few moments, drinking in the strangely comfortable silence. Slowly, Catra feels her heart stop racing, though the ache for Adora's touch still sits there, deep in her chest. It's been there for much longer than just tonight, Catra knows, but her sudden awareness of it makes her feel like everything is off-center. It's hard to focus on everything else when Adora is right in front of her, and her skin is so warm and she could just reach out and—

"Huntara talked to me after the show," Catra says, cutting off her own train of thought. "Uh...thanks."

"I just told her you were worth listening to," Adora replies, her smile soft and warm. "You impressed her all on your own."

"Still. Thanks." A pause. "We're playing on Friday, if you, um...if you'd come."

God, why does this feel so juvenile? She feels so nervous next to Adora, as if every nerve is on fire, overthinking every little word and movement, and yet... 

Catra wants nothing more than to breathe her in completely, to hear every single thought she's missed in their time apart. 

She wants back the summer thunderstorms spent curled up in Catra's bed, blanket thrown over both their shoulders as they watch the raindrops drip down the windowpane. She wants back the scraped knees and palms they would get when they went down to the creek every spring, as soon as the winter ice melted away and turned everything green again. 

She wants early morning getting ready for school and the late nights spent studying for finals. She wants it all and it's not fair that she didn't get it—

"Of course, I'll be there," Adora says with a bright grin. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Catra smiles and chokes down an awfully warm feeling. "Thanks, Adora."

Most of the heavy things have been taken to Adora's car by the time they finish their cigarettes and go inside to help out, a fact which severely bruises Adora's pride. Next thing they know, Scorpia and Adora are neck-and-neck in an "who can throw out their back first" race by carrying things that no human should try to lift by themselves. 

"Do you think this counts as butch-on-butch violence?" Catra says with a half-hidden smile. 

"If it's not yet, it will be soon." Glimmer rolls her eyes. "Guys, just lift it together! For the love of—"

As Glimmer goes to make sure their two idiots don't permanently injure themselves, Bow sidles up to walk with her to the car. 

"Hey, thanks for coming out tonight," Bow says with the same genuine cheerfulness that makes her teeth itch. "I know it meant a lot to Adora, and I meant it when I said it was good to finally meet you."

"Yeah, it was a really good show." Catra pauses for a moment, thinking. "I'm really glad that Adora has you guys. As much as I hated the... _idea_ of you, when she first got adopted, I'm...I'm happy knowing she wasn't alone. Thanks for taking care of her."

Bow laughs. "Adora doesn't let anyone _take care_ of her."

"Ok, ok, you got me, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. And Catra?"

"Yeah?"

"You're welcome with us anytime, you know. She's missed you a lot. Take care of her, too."

Catra raises an eyebrow, smirk in place. "I thought you said that she doesn't let anyone take care of her."

Bow grunts as he works on shoving the gear bag full of heavy wires and cords into the tiny space left between amps. "I did. But you're not just anyone to her, even if she's stubborn."

Catra snorts. "That's a word for it." She pauses, the two of them leaning against the car as they wait for the remaining trio to carry back the last few hauls of gear. "But, thanks. She means a lot to me, too."

They leave it at that, thankfully. Catra doesn't know what she would have said if he had kept her talking—sneaky bastard. His genuine attitude and kindness throws her off balance, the same kind of initial discomfort that Scorpia had given her, too. But according to her therapist, that's her whole "trust issues" thing, so it must be a good sign. 

The buzz of alcohol is finally beginning to wear off, leaving her tired and emotionally drained from an admittedly enjoyable night. She would go home, take a nice, long, hot shower and beg Scorpia to pick up something greasy in the morning. 

Catra doesn't miss how their friends had conveniently left her and Adora alone to say goodbye. She'll tell herself it's just for politeness—because that's all it could be, right? It's not like there's anything there that Catra hasn't imagined herself anyway. 

"Thanks again for coming out tonight," Adora says, flushed grin on her face. Wow, she was right—she did work up a sweat hauling gear. "I just—I missed you so much, and it was so much fun to get to know you were there and getting to hang out after."

"It was a good time. I missed you, too, dork."

They stare at each other for an awkward moment. 

"So, um," Adora starts, nervously fiddling with a stud in one of her ears. "This was great and all, but I want to really be able to catch up, just you and me. Would you want to come over sometime this week? Just to, y'know, hang out, talk, eat lots of junk food and stuff."

"I'd love to," Catra says immediately, surprising herself with how embarrassingly fast her response was. "I mean—yes, yeah, that sounds great."

"Great! Um, _well_ , then I will text you what my schedule is and we can go from there?"

"Sounds like a plan," Catra agrees, biting her tongue to keep her smile from spreading too wide across her face. 

There's a moment where she's not sure where to go from here, what to do or how to say goodbye. But she doesn't have to think for very long, Adora pulling her in close for a hug. She barely comes up to Adora's shoulders, her arms instinctively wrapping around Adora's thick, solid waist. 

"See you later," Adora murmurs in her ear, voice still rough. It causes her skin to prickle and Catra can only hope that Adora doesn't notice. "Text me when you get home okay?"

"I will," Catra promises, as they break apart. "You do the same, yeah?"

When Catra pulls herself into the passenger side of the SUV, she relaxes into the seat with a deep exhale, curling her knees up to her chest. A familiar scent assaults her nose, and she realizes she still has Adora's flannel on. Catra really has to resist the urge to scream—at nothing in particular, just to release all the energy and emotion this night has brought on. 

"Everything ok, Wildcat?"

No, everything is _not_ ok. She is in love with Adora, who could never feel the same way about her in a million years. Just as in love with her as she was when they were teenagers—hopelessly, stupidly, pathetically in love with her. Every bit of her aches with desperation to touch her, taste her—but she'll take whatever she can get, like a desperate fool. 

She'd rather have that than nothing at all—nothing at all was worse, it turns out. 

She pulls the collar of Adora's shirt up just a little higher, and gives Scorpia a tired smile. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go home, please?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for your well wishes for my recovery! i'm healing great and feel better than ever!! 
> 
> featured songs for this chapter are, in order:  
> clear enough - oakman  
> dead all day - bayside   
> more like you - orla gartland
> 
> this was the chapter i figured out that 90% of my playlist is crimson wastes music? whoops...

**Author's Note:**

> all songs will be linked in-text via youtube just for ease of accessibility, but my spotify playlist is available here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2TJImk8MGmFzXEM8UD76Oq?si=Fm9zqIGsTTmkACUiYRyfiw


End file.
